A ChanceMeeting in Middle Earth
by Zandoz
Summary: Lord of the Rings fan fiction. Orcs and Gondorians and Elves, oh my! During the War of the Ring many seemingly unimportant chancemeetings occurred, sparking momentous changes. Psst, female orcs in here!
1. Captured By Orcs

The man opened puffy eyes and was mightily disappointed he still wasn't dreaming. He didn't remember very much but recalled a great battle between his company of Gondorian Rangers and a sortie from Mordor, the Land of Shadow, made up of Men and Uruk-hai and hill-trolls. Looking around he had the sinking feeling he was the lone survivor. He was laying on his side with his hands bound behind his back and apparently for the time being forgotten as Orcs looted their dead enemies and rested from their labors. Clumsily he scooted to a sitting position, realized he was propped against a dead Orc of the North, then figured their wasn't much he could do about it at the moment and gazed at his surroundings. The land was even ripped and torn from the furious battle, littered with the dead and dying of both sides and blood, blood everywhere. Carrion crows squawked over the choice spots at the Scavenger Buffet. He rather hoped he would join his companions and have the suffering over with now, but this was the hand fate had dealt him, and he was a stern man of high lineage and would face whatever came.

"Well now!," came a harsh, guttural voice grating with glee. "Looks like he's come back to the land of th' livin'!" He was kicked like wayward farm animal, tipping him back over on his side. It was one of those vile Orcs and he'd been noticed. It was larger than Northern Orcs but not a big Uruk-hai. "Now what good is a _tark_ male to me? eh?"

"He's gonna tell us where those filthy forest brigands are hiding," came a smart reply from the troop's captain who came striding up. The captains always were bigger and had the better armor, and were usually smarter as well. "Then he's gonna make weapons for the War."

The man snorted in disdain. Even he didn't know the secret location of Lord Faramir's base in Ithilien, and he would've taken the secret to his grave in any case. The harrying of the movement of troops and supplies was one of the few offensive moves he could make as Sauron's might spread across the land, searching for what was lost to him.

Stooping, the captain pulled him upright easily and hissed at him. "Hah, think you're a big boy? We have ways of making you talk. Don't we, _shauks_? Get him up," barked the captain at the nearest orc. He was tall and upright for one of the _Glamhoth_ with long dark, thick hair braided down his back with various bones, beads and other trinkets woven in it for decoration. War paint adorned a rather soft, human-like face and exposed skin which looked to be bronze or brownish-colored.

The man then noticed that the orc-chieftain was a female. "You gonna have a little fun with him on the side, Shaakhlob?," asked the Orc clutching his arm and digging claws into it.

"Hah! I would break him in five minutes."

The man didn't know whether to be relieved or outraged. He was accounted a man of formidable size and strength among his people, and he had been told by various maidens that he was good to look at. His long dark hair was tied in a ponytail and his high-cheekboned face was marked by his large, steel-grey eyes which missed little and discerned much. He had not time for such things, for he was serious and grim and took his honor and duty to his country to heart. The orcs huffed and chuckled.

"Melak, you not gonna tell him?," a great Uruk-hai asked her.

The captain cocked her head at him innocently. "Tell him what, Murz?"

"Ah, you know."

"I'll tell you a thing or two, if you don't start packing up soon! _Skai_! We have work to do!"


	2. ORCS hahaha

"Hey Grizl," the orc guarding him called to a companion. "C'mere and help me watch this _shara_." Another orc shuffled over to them, with large eyes in a sleek face.

"Gah! I'm your _snaga_ now, am I?," she demanded, scratching her backside. The Gondorian realized her voice was higher-pitched and features less harsh. "Let's go, you," she prodded him forward with her spear and without further ado the band was off, trotting at a league-eating pace, unrelentless. They covered much ground with speed and laughed and kicked the man when he stumbled and fell, being he was unable to catch himself with his hands tied. The troop had separated into smaller bands, the trolls and Men heading towards Isengard with new orders. Murz and Grizl took turns poking him with their spears to keep entertained. There was only one short stop during the day and after a long breathless time they stopped to make camp. Heedless of anything else he dropped straight to his knees panting.

"Feed him," Melak the leader tossed over her shoulder as she went by. Grizl loosed his bonds and the first thing in the Ranger's mind was his raw, bloody wrists and the numbing tingly feeling in his fingers. They felt like sausages. Then his second thought was how dry and raw his mouth and throat was. Murz brought a waterskin over and let him have a few mouthfuls of stale water amidst mumbling in some fould Orcish tongue. Indeed different tribes and breeds spoke Westron, the Common Tongue, in order to communicate with each other. He was given some hard tack and a strip of dried meat which he ate despite his mind's misgivings. His stomach won the argument.

"Oi, _tark_-man," Grizl says to him, squatting beside the man, blinking her big round eyes at him. "What's your name, meat?" She was an in-between orc like Murz, with long pointed ears and long arms.

Affronted at being referred to as meat he nevetheless replies, "I am Galadorian."

"Guh--galla," she mouthed, unable to pronounce his name.

"Galadorian." After a few more attempts he came up with a suggestion from his childhood days. "Dorian."

"Dore...Doreeahn. Huh. I'm Grizl, and that's my brother Murz, and we bested you. Big fancy man-of-the-west, hah! You belong to us."

"Ai, he's wanted by the Higher-ups," Melak informed them. "So don't get any bright ideas, _snagas_."

"Snaga yourself!," Grizl snapped, stamping her feet. "They just said not to kill or damage one. We can still get some use out of him."

"Well enjoy while you can, _Glob_ Twins. When we meet the Lugburz lieutenant he'll be taken to the Lord's armories."

"Pfah," the orc female spat. "Lugburz, eh? Damned sneaks and cheats, that."

"Let one o' those Nazgul hear you jabber that around them," Melak threatened, and Grizl shut her jaws. "Riiight. I am captain, and I'll have your name and number, and they'll have your skin. While you're still kicking and squealing."

"Stupid hag," muttered Murz, and recieved a hard cuff to the back of his head. "We'll have none of that shit," intoned Melak. "So stop it before I lose my temper."

* * *

I'm no expert on Tolkienology or language, but here's some words I've used from Orkish/Black Speech. 

tark--man of the west, person of Numenorean descent

shauk--companion, buddy

Glamhoth--(word of Sindarin origin) hated people, people of the enemy

Shaakhlob--literally 'female lord', a lady or high-ranking female

snaga--slave

shara--human man

glob--fool, dummy 


	3. Pain and Revelation

Ok folks, this is a long one. It shouldn't be dull though, so indulge me! Also, I'm not an expert of Black Speech so bear with me.

* * *

Galadorian watched this interplay warily but with interest. Finding out about these foul creatures may prolong his questionably-long life. "Ooh, a new pet," tittered a big Uruk at him, ruffing up his hair. The orc had brownish-red skin and was covered in warpaint and had similiar decoration like Lady Orc-bitch. He was even taller than the man and broad-shouldered, a veritable mountain of muscle and nasty attitude covered in grit, blood and sweat. "Here, you can carry my spoils," and he loaded the man down with food and loot, then the orc siblings loaded him with more. Determined not to show weakness to the violent folk he said not a word but stood there under tremendous weight and bulk, wondering how he was going to travel like this.

"Ach, that Gorluk," complained Grizl, shaking her head. "He has good ideas, but he's annoying as fuck-all."

"Is he an orc-captain?," ventured the Ranger demurely.

"Hmmf, he's Melak's second and all chummy-chummy with her and the bigwigs up at Lugburz. And father of her little bastard, like as not," snorted Murz.

"Shhh," hissed Grizl, swatting her brother on his arm. "You'll get us flayed jawin' about such things. Besides, it's none of the meat's concern what goes on." Dorian gritted his teeth in offense but wisely said nothing. After an unbelievably short rest they were off again in the middle of the night, Galadorian puffing along, trying his damnedest to keep up. He did well for a while, for the men of his race were proud and stone-hard like dwarves in their labors, but eventually the reckless pace sapped his formidable strength. The captain noticed and near a large stream called a halt. "What's all this nonsense? Who put all this on the _tark_?"

"I did, _Prizdurlob_," answered Gorluk, stepping up.

"Well, get some of it off him," she ordered. "We can't have the _shara_ dying too soon, before I can interrogate him."

"Ah, he can take it," the uruk disagreed.

"Take it off," Melak snarled low and menacingly, glaring daggers at her _pizbur_. Curred, he shuffled to relieve Galadorian of some of his burden. He tried not to show his relief. The orc-captain felt it was a good idea to rest for a while beside the fresh stream, and in effective orc fashion a remarkably well-ordered encampment was erected. Murz gave him more water but no food was forthcoming so he slumped next to their fire, panting. "Bring him," Melak barked to the siblings.

Shit. Time for interrogation.

Several good-sized mountain-orc of Mordor siezed the Gondorian and dragged him kicking to a secure, secluded spot where Melak was waiting. "W-wait! No, stop!," he cried when he spied the blacksmith tongs in her hand. He was forced to the ground and pinned on his back with an orc on each arm and two more standing by. At the leader's nod the two pulled his chain mail and hauberk off him (his heavy cloak having been confiscated by Grizl). Next came the vambraces and leather jerkin he wore for extra padding and protection, leaving only the soft linen shirt he wore underneath.

Melak stood over him, nostils flaring in anticipation. "You report to Faramir, that snotty brat of Minas Tirith?," she began.

"Aye," he responded, wondering if he would survive and at this rate would he really wish to.

"What we would very much like to know is where he and his brigands hide."

Galadorian said nothing.

Crouching beside him the man was aware of her muscular, well-shaped thigh next to his face. She wore a sort of leather loincloth and boots and shin-guards on lower legs, but her upper legs were bare and parted as she bent over him. "You are a big, strong _tark_ boy, and we don't want to ruin a good thrall by damaging you too much...but there's still things we can do to you, _snaga_.

The man remained silent.

Melak tood hold of his aquiline nose and crushed it with the tongs, the delicate bones inside it imploding with a hot burst of pain. Despite all he could do Galadorian howled in agony as the orcs holding him cackled with glee. Leaning forward Melak sniffed him like a dog, grinning. "I can smell your fear." She ran a long, sharp fingernail down his face, leaving a trail of blood down to his neck. Next she went for his ear. "I don't know! I swear it!," he screamed with such conviction that the _prizdul_ ceased the torture. For the time being.

"Bind him," she instructs Gorluk who immediately carries out the order. On his knees with hands behind him Dorian whispers a prayer to the Valar or whatever gods would listen to one poor human man held for whatever nefarious reasons in Middle-earth. Pain blossomed all over his face and his nose throbbed, pouring crimson onto his chest. He was in despair of ever seing his home in the fields surrounding the majestic fortress city of Minas Tirith again, indeed of even breathing the next few minutes. "Why do you weep, _glur_? Is your precious looks that important to you?," she demanded spitefully.

Gazing up at her he snarls, "It's not my looks I weep for, you filthy hagling. I weep for my fate, which is likely to not improve, and I weep for the fate of my people. The beautiful White City will be crushed by the Enemy and my land picked over by foul, disgusting creatures like you and evil, wild men. And I weep that none hear our wails and prayers as we are beset on all sides, no one to succour us."

For a moment the orc leader was taken aback, then she yanked him up by his bloody shirt. "Galadorian. Man-of-the-forest," and it was the man's turned to have widened eyes. "Hai, I know what it means. If you are weak, you will be toppled by the strong. It is the way of the world around us, the weak are devoured by the powerful. If you are strong, you live. You take what you want. Are you weak, foolish man-of-the-west?" Melak had divested herself of her upper body armor and was clad in a rough tunic with shells and such sewn on it, and the Ranger could feel the strength in the bunched muscles of her arms as she clutched at him. Looking at her face close-up he saw she had large hazel eyes and relatively normal-shaped teeth--not like orcs at all! The eyes of most orcs he'd ever seen had yellow, black or red eyes. Maybe she was one of those cursed half-breeds that was spotted from time to time, usually as ruffians and villains preying on smple folk. He prudently decided now was not the time to ask her straight out.

"Eru damn you to the deepest hells of Udun," he spat. "You and any profane beasts you ever spawn, demoness."

"What did you say?," Melak roared, now beside herself in anger. "How you dare, elf-whelp!" She struck him with clenched fists, but though he staggered and stumbled he wouldn't go down. "I might forget my 'special orders' for that insolence, _snaga_!," she hit him again. "It will be a good day when you little elflings are gone forever, and good riddance to a damned nuisance! Coddlers! Horsefuckers! Get him out of my sight!"

Orcs scurried to obey her. Grizl and Murz had great sport licking the blood from the man's face and neck, and his cries of disgust could be heard throughout the camp.

"Oho, rubbed the ol' _Shaakhlob_ the wrong way, did you?," cackled Grizl, stamping her feet. "Not smart, not smart, _shara_."

"You irritate 'er too much, you'll really wish you're dead," put in Murz, chuckling at the man's broken nose.

"Oh look, she's marked 'im!," exclaimed a big green-skinned Uruk. "Well ain't he pretty!"

"Yeah, and he's ours, Baagash," declared Murz, glaring at the bigger Orc.

"I don't want your toy," the fighting-orc says. "This has still got another few days use," he was pulling a woman's corpse by the arm behind him. Galadorian retched as he saw the dead human female's eyeless sockets, and it was obvious she'd been used cruelly before her horrible death.

"I like my meat still kicking," mused Murz.

"You'll hump anything that breathes," snorted his sister.

"And you'll hump anything that'll fill that gaping hole!"

She lobbed a rock at her brother's head. "Owww!"

The siblings fought over their rations, they fought over who had sentry duty first, they squabbled over sleeping-places. The whole time Dorian observed them, sitting and rubbing the ropes on his wrists on the rock he was leaning on until they broke. The other orcs were cheerfully drinking their latest victory, singing rousing, guttural orcish songs and passing out one by one, except for the guards, of course. He hadn't seen Melak for some time but hoped she was out as well. If he'd been thinking clearly he would've recalled that their sentries were of the smaller hill-orc breed with keen eyes and sense of smell in the dark, making escape quite difficult, but at this point he was desperate to get away.

However, being a Ranger he made almost no sound as he slowly crept past the perimeter of the camp. Which way to go?, he said to himself when he reached the stream. Upstream, he decided, then bear north and west toward Minas Tirith or perhaps a human settlement along the way. Still picking his way carefully he made his way along the bank. It wasn't long before he heard some commotion or splashing in the water. Wary again he slipped toward the sound, crouched low to the ground. Right in front of the foliage at the water's edge lay what appeared to be clothes and gear. Curiosity getting the better of him he poked his head through the flora and saw someone bathing and splashing merrily in the water, which was only waist-high. From the stance and muscled arms and legs he knew it was Melak, even though her back was to him. White and black paint floated out from her form as she rubbed her upper arms. He backed away quickly, intent on fleeing headlong.

And she heard him. "Oi!," she yelled, in three great strides reaching the bank and grabbing a crossbow, like the ones used by Uruk-hai scouts. Galadorian felt and heard a crossbow quarrel whiz right by his left ear, embedding itself in the tree next to him. He halted, hands up in surrender. "Hah, that's right, big boy." He heard the footfalls of her bare feet on the leafy ground as she approached. "You've earned yourself some more punishment. Turn around, idiot. You're not going anywhere!"

Slowly he turned and saw a nude Melak standing about twenty feet from him, crossbow levelled at his heart. Then he looked closer and saw that she'd washed her hair and the warpaint off herself, revealing dark brown hair and sun-bronzed skin. He also saw that she was human, just like him. Even considering the fierce gleam in her greenish-brown eyes and the myriad scars riddling her body, even giving the fact of her browned skin, harsh, low-pitched voice and orcish ways, she was a human woman. A...very large, powerfully built, amply endowed woman.

"You--you..," he stammered. "You're a woman!"

She snickered and said something in Black Speech, the tongue of Mordor. She then switche to the Common Tongue. "How clever of you, _glob_. I am no more a _sharlob_ than you are, Big Boy, maybe less. I am of the Red Cliffs Uruk-hai, clan of Shartog, and I am in charge here. Leg it!," she gestured with her head, back in the direction of the orc-camp.

Despite her protests to the contrary, Melak was no orc, now that he'd seen her without armor and paint. A thousand questions were running through his mind now; how had she come to be with the orcs, not only that but prosper and work up through the ranks of their society? And why would one enjoy the company of such foul folk, working for the Enemy of all Free Peoples?

* * *

prizdurlob--female captain

prizbur--sergeant

glur--male prisoner

sharlob--human woman 


	4. Orcs Are People Tooright?

Suddenly out of the shadows hurtled two screaming figures, bowling the man over. Beating and biting Murz and Grizl fought with the Gondorian as he tried to fend them off from a prone position. "Hie! Oi!," barked Melak. "Stop that! Take 'im back to camp." Angered at Galadorian's escape from right under their noses they ignored the order, snarling and growling like dogs. Murz bashed the tall man's head against the ground with such force that he went limp. "Enough!," exclaimed the orc-leader.

Pushed by an unseen force the siblings, big eyes wide, were disengaged from the object of their fury. Groggy and disoriented Dorian looked up in time to see Grizl and Murz silenced and held by invisible bonds. "Are you ready to behave?," Melak asked them. They nodded yes, then were released. "Damnitall, I hate when you do that," groused Murz.

"Serves you right when you won't listen," Melak tells them.

Grumbling, Grizl and her brother pull the man to his feet. Melak was breathing hard like she'd been running all night but was watching them sternly. "What sort of sorcery was that?," the Ranger asked when he was able.

"It's what makes me Shaman and Warchief of the Red Cliff Orcs. Now get going!" Sighing he obeyed, being pushed and kicked occasionally by the Orc Twins. "Gorluk! Baagash!," she hollers when they get back to camp. The two big orcs come running up and she hands the crossbow to Gorluk her second. "Make sure Big Boy doesn't go anywhere, and keep the _Glob_ Twins from maiming him too badly." She stalks back to get dressed and Gorluk's gaze lingers after her, yellow eyes gleaming.

"For a Man-bitch she can make your spear hard, eh?," Baagash nudges the sergeant, who snorts in mirth.

Galadorian made a face of disgust, causing his ruined nose to hurt again. According to Murz and Grizl she'd even borne a child by Gorluk or one of these Uruk-hai. "Ho, _shara_," the uruk with reddish skin hails him. "Think she'll go easy on you 'cause she's a human like you? Hah! Think again, fool." Gorluk pushed Dorian down beside the siblings' fire, chuckling, and was given the remains of some foul stew which he ate anyways.

"Maybe he wants to bone her," giggles Baagash.

"Actually, I was just curious," the man says between bites.

"Oh yeah? About what?," Gorluk asks, his eyes becoming slits.

"Well, how did the, uh..._Shaakhlob_ came to be among orcs? And why do you accept her?"

"Nosy, nosy!," declares Grizl, hopping from one foot to the other. Their anger had passed as swiftly as it had manifested, but the Gondorian would never underestimate them again, goofy antics or no. "She's strong and bold, and you see her power."

"Not your business, _snaga_. But I will tell you a little, since you've survived this long," Gorluk said, sitting beside the man. "She comes from a pathetic little village between your land and the horse-lords' land. Old Shartog's orcs raided it and took a man-child to entertain them. She proved herself to the _Glamhoth_ with her unbreakable will and later her magical talents."

"She knows a lotta languages," Baagash puts in. He was tall and slimmer than Gorluk but still huge for an orc. "Too bad she's up the asses of those up at Lugburz. Nazgul and Black Numenoreans and Easterlings, bah! Wish it was like it was in the old days, where everyone minded his own business. Well, 'less we needed fresh slaves, har har!"

Instead of being angry the orc-sergeant laughs. "Wish all ye want, corpse-fucker. Only way we'll come out good is by serving the Higher-ups, and then bide our time. They can't be everywhere at once, can they?"

"Ah, then you set up someplace out-of-the-way? Good idea!," Murz says. "Plunder some province up North." He yawned and crawled under his sleeping-roll.

Grizl had busied herself trying to tack the Ranger's cloak to fit her smaller stature but she wasn't making any progress. "I can help you with that," Galadorian offers, hunkering down next to the female orc. "You're not gettin this back, Big Boy," she snaps.

"Here," he grabs the garment and needle from her and swiftly makes the adjustment, hemming the cloak quite effectively. Grizl tries it on, pulling the hood over her goblin face and grunting with satisfaction. "How you do that? Figure a tall Man like you would leave that to slaves."

"I am trained as a Ranger of the wild, and we are often months away from any kind of settlement. We have to do our own mending and repair of our clothes and gear, and our own cooking as well."

"If we don't have anyone to cook, I eats my meat raw," says Gorluk. "But I can see where those other skills would come in handy."

"So what kinda beasts have you seen in your rambling? Ever seen any of those beasts of the Haradrim?"

"Mumakil? Nay, I've never seen one of those fearsome beasts. But I have seen deer that stand taller than Gorluk at the shoulders, with antlers big enough to give three men shade in the sun."

"There's no such deer as that!," scoffed Gorluk.

"I've heard them called 'elk'," the man went on. "I wouldn't believe it either, but I saw it with mine own eyes. I also saw a pair of big birds some merchants brought from the South, and the males have beautiful tailfeathers many feet long which they parade in front of the females. They also sound like screaming women when they call!"

"That I'd like to see!," guffawed Baagash. "Wonder what noise they make when you wring their necks?

"Keeee-yah! Keeee-yah!," the man imitated the sound of the exotic bird, startling the orcs. He was amused at the expressions on their faces. They all started laughing, the human included. He ended up telling stories and tales of his homeland and the places he'd travelled well past the middle of the night, until the orcs grew sleepy and the human man passed clean out beside the fire. Miraculously he slept peacefully and well, never stirring the whole night.

Everything, in fact, was peaceful and nice until a well-placed blow to the ribs with a spear handle jolted him back to reality. The odors of unwashed orcs, old food, vomit, and other orc filth assaulted his nostrils. Eru damn all such creatures he thought, and not for the last time. Stiff but rested he got to his feet and his face at once met a bony fist, causing him to see stars for a few moments. "That was for that little trick last night," hissed Melak, fully dressed and spoiling for a fight. His poor nose started bleeding yet again, and he shook his throbbing head to clear it of the cobwebs. "A full account will be given to the Lieutenant of the Tower when he comes to get you." He kept his eyes down like an obedient orc like he'd seen the smaller goblins do, and for the moment it seemed to work. Aside from a hard shove he got no more from her.

He assumed they would be off at the fast orc pace again, but they made no move to break camp. He was well-watched by the Orc Twins. They were joined by a small goblin named Tumil, with big red eyes and a hunched back, who was complaining about his sword and armor. "May I?," asked the Gondorian, beckoning to the hill-orc's sword. Grizl glowered in disapproval but Murz nodded affirmative. With so many of their kind about he wouldn't get far if he tried to use it on any of them. He hefted the curved, scimitar-like sword, and saw that it was rather well-made, if old. It had good balance but was unwieldy in his hand, for he was used to the straight two-handed swords of his people. "Tis rusty and needs sharpening, but otherwise seems a fine enough blade. Have you no file to sharpen it on?" At the goblin's blank stare he sighed. "I'll find something to help," and making no overt moves searched the surrounding ground for stones. "This might work," he said when he found a rough, brittle rock that fitted easily in his hand. He ran the blade up and down the rock in smooth, graceful strokes and before the orcs' eyes the blade lost its dullness and began to shine in the sunlight.

"Do mine!," exclaimed Grizl, dancing around him and proffering her short stabbing-blade. Pretty soon he was hard-put to keep up with the orc-band's demands. Without slaves and being as lazy as they naturally are not many had much clue how to maintain their gear. He still got tripped, struck and kicked occasionally but it wasn't quite as rough or frequent, and try as he might to prevent it he started looking at them as unique individuals. Melak was the hard-boiled leader who nevertheless joked and cavorted with the rank and file. Baagash was the Uruk who had a...thing for dead bodies of various races, and Gorluk was the second in command and pretty much life of the party. The Orc Siblings had a high ranking despite their silly antics, and Tumil was a harried scouting-orc harassed almost as much as Dorian was.

The reason for their non-departure was soon evident when a small group of Dunlendings arrived, heads hanging with exhaustion. They were a small, primitive, savage race of humans who hated both the Rohirrim and the people of Gondor, and a few Uruk-hai were with them. The folk of Dunland were among the few to tolerate orcs of any kind among them. "Ho, Melak!," called one of them when she caught her breath. The big female fighting-orc had almost black skin and red eyes in a softer-featured face than her comrades. She still was far from pretty, however, she smelled none too good either. Melak and the Uruk clasped hands in greeting, bothing smiling. "Looks like you been leggin' it for a while, Thala," the leader observed.

"We came upon a band of cursed wood-elves going to the aid of the Stone City," Thala replied. The man's ears perked up at mention of his home city of Minas Tirith.

"We got ourselves a prize!," guffawed the Dundlendish chieftain, his long hair and beard almost down to his waist. He then brought forward a captive, and it was no man or dwarf, but an Elf. His helm had been siezed with his weapons but was still clad in light segmented armor, and his golden hair was stained with leaves and dried blood. Pointed ears poked from under the golden locks, and dark eyes settled on him, widening in surprise. He was the most radiant being the man had ever seen, and he was a prisoner as well.


	5. Having some fun

The Dunlending leader jerked the Elf to the man, and the _ellon_ (male elf) raised his eyes in surprise on seeing the Gondorian. "_Mae govannon, rochon,_" he hailed him in Sindarin. His voice was as sparkling ethereal and beautiful as he was.

"_Mae govannon, brannon_," Dorian replied. He'd never met any of the fair ones before, and he would never forget it.

The elf man laughed, pulling at his bonds which were putting his long thin arms in a bind. "I'm no lord, Dunedain," he said to him the Sindarin (Grey-elven) speech. "But I am glad to see the fair face of one of our allies of old. I am Firion."

"And I am Galadorian. How did Silvan Elves end up this far south?," the man questioned him.

"We were coming with messages and aid to the White City," he answered. "But we were driven further south by a legion of hill-trolls and Uruk-hai and lost our way. My company were from land of Lorien, in the service of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn."

"Shut it, fools," snapped the Dundlender, cracking the back of the elf's skull with his club. Unbelievably, it didn't fell him but drove him to his knees. He was much tougher than he appeared.

"Don't break him, Gormin ya terd!," Thala guffawed, shoving the swarthy man playfully. "I wanna pretty elf man to play with."

"You can stop the elf-talk," warned Melak. "Or we'll take your tongues." She pushed Dorian who looked down and stopped trying to communicate with the elf. She pushed his leather jerkin into his hands as she went by. The _ellon_ was stripped of his burnished segmented armor then left to stand beside the Ranger, his slender form shuddering in anger and disgust. "We are the forgotten ones," Firion murmurs sadly.

Leaning toward his fellow captive he whispers, "Don't despair just yet. We still have some way to go, and I know the countryside here well." Firion looked at him searchingly, his keen elven eyes seeming to bore into his very being. The man had never experienced the razor-sharp scrutiny of an Elf before, and when he loosed his gaze Dorian felt his companion knew his very thoughts; it made him reconsider the old tales he'd been told of the Eldarin race.

"So you know...," began the Gondorian.

"Yes, she's no orc. She also has the blood of the Numenorean race in her, just as you. What an abomination to find her so."

Dorian rather felt sorry for her after hearing how she came to be with the orcs, a poor child taken, her parents slaughtered. But then again, she served the Enemy and he'd already tasted her orcish upbringing.

"We are the fighting Uruk-hai!

The fighting Uruk-hai!

We run all night, and fight all day!

Fight all day!," sang the orcs, while the men from Dunland chanted in their strange tongue. The _Glamhoth_ roasted the corpses of the defeated men and elves, which the Dunlenders wouldn't eat. They'd procured horsemeat from the overrun lowland regions of Rohan, the horse-lords, which suited them fine. As primitive and savage as they were, they yet refused to cannibalize their enemies, content to leave the dead to the carrion beasts and the weather. Soon steaming rough-hewn bowls of greasy, undercooked horsemeat were plopped before the captives, and Galadorian hated to admit it to himself that it smelled delicious. He soaked the rock-hard heel of bread in the juices to soften it up and give it some taste. Firion dunked his bread in some water, wrinkling his nose at the meat.

"You should eat it anyway," the human male told him. "We need our strength." He glanced at him pointedly.

"I am fine, my friend. I can withstand more than a couple days on short rations."

It didn't go unnoticed. Thala strode up, clad only in loincloth and sandals and gnawing on a human leg bone. "Can't eat yer meat, heh?," she chuckled. "Pretty elf boy doesn't like the meat you gave him, Gormin. Maybe he'd like some horse-boy to eat?" She wagged the repulsive shank of meat before his smooth-skinned face. He recoiled.

"That's good meat, better than the dried crap we've been carrying," declared the Dunland chieftain. "It's fresh!"

Thala finished with her food and tossed the bone aside, yanking the elf man to his feet effortlessly. "You should listen to your big strong friend. I'd hate to have you expire on me too soon. That would be a shame, it would!," her black eyes glinted dangerously in the failing sunlight. She stooped and picked up a chunk of the horseflesh and backed the elf to a tent pole in an effort to get away from the female orc. "Eat it, _snaga_!" She pulled his chin, opening his mouth wide then plugged it with the morsel. Then she held his face shut till he began chewing slowly and painfully, finally swallowing with a great heave, looking mightily repulsed. "Haha! He likes being fed like a baby!"

"I think he's looking at something else that might interest a baby!," guffawed a Dunlender who was helping himself to a wineskin.

Grinning evilly she thrust her breasts in the Elf's paling face, dark nipples standing out on the round, bronze-colored globes of flesh. "Not ever seen the mounds of a Uruk, pretty one?" Pulling his eyes from her chest he stared straight ahead, attempting to ignore the smell of blood and churned earth on her, along with her strong female scent. This was one time he regretted his keen elven senses. In one smooth move she tore his tunic down to his waist while all the others laughed at her play. Dorian's face reddened in fury and empathic humiliation--how could such a creature abuse a noble Wood-elf in this way? "Have yourself a suckle, elf piglet," she chortled, pushing his face into her bosom. Her arms were more muscled than many swordsmen the Ranger had seen, and in a vice grip Firion started to cry out when his mouth was filled with a still-lactating breast.

He choked, eyes clouding over, his sensibilities strained beyond comprehension. Thala had spent most of her adult life as a breeder before her other talents (namely, cruelty and creativity in killing things) showed themselves to the extent where she was picked as a foot soldier, and she was still a prolific bearer of healthy orc babies in the service of Mordor. She'd recently lost an orcling of only three months however, and had been put back to work for the War. The elf gagged as warm milk trickled down his throat. Oh Elbereth, he couldn't stop!

"Stop it!," cried Dorian, hands balling into fists. "Leave him alone! Please!"

"Oho!," Thala mocked him. "You want a turn? No, you're a big boy, ain't ya?," she pushed the stricken elf away, and he crumpled like a shirt. Without warning her big fist shot out and got him right in the temple, causing white lights to burst before his eyes. He staggered and ducked another blow aimed at his head. He realized she was kicking him as well and tried to ward off the blows but they kept coming. Thala was getting sexual gratification from beating him mercilessly and he took it, preferring it to the vulgar playing. Gormin whooped and leapt about like a wild thing, taking up a rousing chorus from the orcs and Dundlenders.

Nose bleeding again, head swelling from being struck like stones and bruises already forming all over his body he never faltered, but stood and glowered at her the whole time. Then Thala leaned in and bit his ear, sharp teeth sinking in the cartilage as he yelped in shock. Grunting and snorting in release she loosed her fangs from his mutilated ear, pulling a hand from under the loincloth and smirking. "I like you, Big Boy. I can see why Melak keeps you around."


End file.
